


Out of my System

by Fyre



Series: Ineffable Opposites by DianaCrimsonia [1]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Azrael is Aziraphale as Death, He is not sure what to do with this information, I am entirely smitten with it, Raphael has some Unrequited Feelings for a certain demon, Raphael is an angel Crowley, Some of those feelings are Pants Feelings, ineffable opposites
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24807772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: Raphael drummed his fingertips on the dial.Well… if he was going to be distracted, what harm would it do to let the thoughts out? If he kept them bottled up, then they would only be distracting, but if he unleashed them, just once, let them be free, surely that would be better? Get it out of his system so to speak. Yes. Yes! That was a good idea. Clear it out of his system and everything would be fine.
Relationships: Azrael/Raphael (Ineffable Opposites)
Series: Ineffable Opposites by DianaCrimsonia [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1824286
Comments: 24
Kudos: 105





	Out of my System

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DianaCrimsonia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DianaCrimsonia/gifts).



> Shush, I know, I'm weak and soft and everything.

Raphael fidgeted, adjusting the focus on his telescope.

The view of the night sky through the eyepiece blurred and danced and he huffed, sitting up a little straighter. For Heaven’s sake he was an _angel_. He shouldn’t be getting so distracted by such silly things. And such _physical_ things, for Her sake.

They’d gone out to dinner, he and Azrael.

Simply two sometime adversaries, sometime friends, sitting down and breaking bread like civilised people. They _had_ eaten together before. Several times. And drank too, though for him it was more of a spectator sport. Never really one for indulging, but Azrael…

Oh, Azrael _indulged_.

Raphael nibbled at his thumbnail.

Don’t think about it. It was that simple. Just… find other things to think about and not fixate on Azrael groaning in pleasure over some kind of spiced soup or… or sucking sweet, hot sauce from his thumb, his eyes on Raphael.

“Ngh!” Raphael groaned and, despite his good intentions, licked the ball of his thumb. Definitely _not_ imagining someone else’s tongue in his place. And _certainly_ not dragging his hand up, lips grazing his palm and picturing someone else.

No.

No, no, no.

He oughtn’t.

It was… oh Heavens, it would be….

He pressed his hands to the telescope again. Concentrating. He _was_. He was working hard and properly and wasn’t glowing so hot that the world had taken on a pinker sheen around him. Everything was fine and he wasn’t at _all_ imagining Azrael coming in and finding him like that, flushed and flustered and hands shaking on the cool metal.

_“Trying to blind me, Sunshine?”_

Oh, _Mother_ , why did Azrael have to be so… so _him_ all the time?

Raphael drummed his fingertips on the dial.

Well… if he was going to be distracted, what harm would it do to let the thoughts out? If he kept them bottled up, then they would only be distracting, but if he unleashed them, just once, let them be free, surely that would be better? Get it out of his system so to speak. Yes. Yes! That was a good idea. Clear it out of his system and everything would be fine.

He spun his chair around and folded his hands in his lap.

“All right…”

He frowned into the empty room.

How exactly did you go about doing… the… the thing?

He looked down at his own hands, wondering if licking might help again. But no. Not really. Azrael had larger hands. Far broader. He ran the fingertips of his right hand over the back of his left. And stronger too, he thought with an unexpected shiver. Would he be gentle? He was always so gruff, it was hard to picture him being soft and yet, sometimes…

No. No, he would be kind. He always tried to pretend, but when – if – he ever kissed Raphael, the angel knew he _would_ be kind. Perhaps cup his face in those broad, work-worn hands, drag his thumbs along Raphael’s cheekbones, drinking him in with those honey-gold eyes and then his mouth…

Raphael shifted on his seat, nipping at his lower lip. Oh, he would know how to kiss. He was a demon after all. He had no doubt had… he would… he _must_ know what to do. And he could… show him. Teach him, and – Raphael’s breath hitched – bury his fingers into Raphael’s hair.

Oh, what a lovely thought, those thick, strong fingers cradling his skull, gentle as gossamer and, those lips that smiled so wryly and fondly brushing over his. Opening against his. T-tasting.

“Oh _Mother_ …” Raphael breathed, heat rippling through him at the thought, throbbing into part of him he had never really given much consideration. He tugged at his ascot, suddenly too tight, constricting. Air. He needed air. Though as his fingers splayed on his throat, spreading the fabric, imaginary lips followed.

Oh sweet Heaven, that… _that_ was a thought.

Azrael devouring him with the same eagerness he put into every meal they had shared, kissing there, sucking gently on _that_ point right below his ear, gently – always gently – biting and nibbling down the length of his throat.

Rapahael’s shoes slid against the floor and he fumbled with the front of his shirt, daring to slip a hand inside, his skin thrumming and glowing. He knew his corporation, though he didn’t really do much with it, and he knew that there were places that if he touched th…

Oh my word. The little nipple had peaked all by itself and he shuddered as he skimmed his thumb over it. Would Azrael…? Wait… wait, wait, wait… touch would be nice, but…

Fumbling, he tugged his hand out of his shirt and – blushing furiously – sucked the end of his thumb. He bit his lip, raising his eye to the ceiling, then dipped his hand back beneath the shirt, dragging the slick ball of his thumb over his nipple as greedily as Azrael had dragged his tongue over the back of his dessert spoon.

The tightness below his waist, his effort pressing demandingly against the front of his trousers. He shifted his hips cautiously, hissing between his teeth as the pressure did… surprisingly nice things, though his heart was thundering in his ears and he was fairly sure he’d forgotten how to breathe.

He stroked his thumb again. Circles were nice. Very nice. And a little harder.

And entirely of its own volition, his other hand drifted and pressed to the front of his trousers, imagining a bigger, warmer, firmer hand in its place.

“O-Oh!” he gasped, wrenching it back.

No, no, he really oughtn’t.

But his nail scratched teasingly over his nipple and his hips rocked and he sucked on his lower lip as he rubbed against the front of his trousers. His fingers trembled as he tugged at his belt and at the fastenings.

And oh Lord… it was there, jutting out demandingly, hard and aching and he almost slid out of his seat, feet skittering. Standing. Standing would be better. Brace himself and not fall on the floor. A chair with wheels was a bad plan for that.

He tottered to his feet, pulling his hands away from his body, and managed to cover the few steps to his workbench.

“Calm down,” he chastised himself, lungs heaving. Heavens, what a state he must look, shirt hanging out, trousers falling down and ascot hanging loose. He braced both hands on the table, gathering himself, his reflection visible in the dark glass of the window.

He stared at himself, flushed and shimmering and if he imagined, he could picture Azrael at his back, over his shoulder.

 _“I’ll take care of you, Sunshine,”_ he’d murmur.

He ‘d cover him, like a mantle, like a shield and his hand would slip down, dragging Raphael’s shirt up at the hip, baring a glimpse of sparkling skin. And on the opposite side, he’d… his mouth would… he’d find that place on Raphael’s neck and…

Raphael stifled a whimper, slipping his hand down to his open trousers, tentatively closing his fingers around his… his… oh _Lord_ … his cock. A shudder tore through him and he pictured that stronger hand, squeezing more firmly, stroking.

“Oh my stars…” he gasped out, clinging to the edge of the table.

_“There we go, love… that’s it…”_

His legs shook under him with every stroke, sensations thrumming through his veins like solar flares. How… how was he… breathing… how was he meant to…?

His hips twitched suddenly and he squeaked in surprise and alarm as his seed spattered his trousers and the underside of the table.

“Oh…”He uncurled his fingers, pale liquid clinging to them, and another guilty stab of heat shot through him at the ringing thought that Azrael would probably want to taste that, wrap his tongue around each finger, suck it clean and then…

“Oh no,” Raphael moaned, tugging his handkerchief from his pocket and mopping at his hands. “No, no, no. It was meant to _stop_ it!”

No wonder the humans kept getting distracted all the time, if this was what being smitten was like

“You silly thing,” he scolded himself, fumbling his now-soft cock back into his trousers and fastening them up. It took considerably longer than usual.

Once done, he cleaned up the mess under his desk, blushing pinker with every moment. Oh Heaven…

“It was one time,” he reproached himself. “That’s all. We won’t be doing that again.”

Still, as he caught a glimpse of himself, rose-cheeked and dishevelled, in the polished dark of the window, he had a sneaking suspicion that he might change his mind.


End file.
